Chapter 01 | Echoes of Past Life

On his twenty-eighth birthday, Matthias Titus filed his reports on time and bought his usual convenience-store lunch.

By six, he was on the eastbound train home.

He could have bought something better for his birthday. He'd considered it at lunch, then chosen the usual meal anyway.

There was comfort in knowing exactly what the evening would be like. Usually, that was enough.

Three stops later, he realized someone was watching him.

He glanced away from the window. Beside him, a salaryman dozed over his briefcase while a teenager's headphones hissed with music.

Across the aisle, a woman scrolled through her phone.

Nobody looked back.

Matthias loosened his tie and faced the glass again.

Long day. That's all.

The prickling at the base of his skull sharpened.

He watched the passengers reflected in the window until the next station. Nothing moved toward him, but he knew the feeling would follow him off the train.

When the doors opened, he stood.

He still had two stops to go.

The streets near his apartment were quiet. Yellow light shone through curtains, and a cat darted beneath a fence as he passed.

Matthias turned left at the vending machine instead of right.

The presence followed.

At the park gate, he changed direction again.

Still there.

His grip tightened around his briefcase.

Fine. Let's see how long you can keep up.

He doubled back behind the dry cleaner's, then cut through the narrow passage beside the bicycle shop. His pursuer adjusted each time, staying just out of sight.

Somehow, he knew exactly when to turn.

His coworkers joked that he could sense the supervisor coming. Until tonight, that had been the most useful thing his instincts had ever done.

Now they told him to stop.

He slipped beneath the closed florist's awning and held still.

A figure in a long gray cloak rounded the corner. It slowed in the middle of the plaza, hood turning left, then right.

Searching for him.

Matthias stepped out behind it.

"You can stop this cat-and-mouse game now."

The figure jerked around. One foot caught in the cloak's hem.

"Ah—!"

His mysterious pursuer landed hard on the cobblestones.

Matthias opened his mouth, then forgot what he meant to say.

Her hood had fallen back, spilling long, pale gold hair over her shoulders. The strands shone like winter sunlight, even where the plaza lamps couldn't reach them.

Matthias stared. Her skin was pale as fine porcelain, and every line of her face had a delicate perfection that made his eyes linger. She looked barely out of her teens, yet he couldn't place her among any of the faces he had ever known.

Then she lifted her eyes to his, and he forgot about her hair.

They were a deep emerald green, so vivid they seemed lit from within. Around them, the colors of the plaza looked suddenly dull. He forgot to breathe until his chest tightened.

Otherworldly.

The word came before he could dismiss it. He blinked, expecting the lamplight's trick to break, but her beauty remained just as impossible.

Then her cheeks colored, and she raised two fingers in a little V.

"Master. You caught me."

She winked.

"Tee hee."

Matthias waited for someone to come out with a camera.

Nobody did.

"Is this a prank?"

"No, of course not."

"Who put you up to this?"

"Nobody." She lowered her hand. "And I would appreciate it if you stopped looking at me as though I were a peculiar insect."

"You followed me through my neighborhood in a cloak and called me Master."

"It has been three thousand years."

He stopped.

She was still smiling, but her fingers had closed around a fold of gray cloth.

"Three thousand years since I last stood before you," she said. "Please allow me that much."

For a moment, he couldn't think of anything flippant to say.

"You've been looking for me that long?"

"Yes."

"And you found me outside a closed florist?"

"You are a difficult soul to track across reincarnation cycles." Her smile turned reproachful. "The least you could do is not look at me as though I am the strange one."

Matthias pinched the bridge of his nose.

This conversation was getting away from him.

"Get up," he said. "Please. You're sitting on cobblestones."

Her grip on the cloak loosened.

"Of course."

She rose, unfastened the cloak, and folded it over one arm. Beneath it, she wore a full-length white dress with a modest U-shaped neckline.

Without the cloak, he could see how slight she was. The simple dress followed her waist and hips before falling in soft folds to her feet, shifting as she straightened. Long golden hair settled against the white fabric, still carrying that faint glow.

She moved with an easy grace that made her tumble a moment ago difficult to believe. Matthias caught himself following the movement of her hands as she smoothed her skirt.

Matthias dragged his eyes back to her face.

She noticed. The small smile she gave him did nothing to help.

Then she gathered her skirt and curtsied.

"I am Belial. Your servant, my lord. Faithful to you across every age."

There was no teasing in her voice now.

That bothered him more than the wink.

"I'm an office worker," he said. "I take the train and eat convenience-store lunches. I do not have servants."

"In this life, no."

"There it is again."

"But you are not only this life."

He shifted his briefcase to his other hand.

"Look, the costume is impressive. You've clearly put effort into this. But I'm not interested in roleplay."

Belial studied him for a moment.

"You knew I was following you on the train."

"Apparently, I was right."

"Did you see me?"

He hesitated.

"No."

"Hear me?"

"What are you getting at?"

She stepped closer. Matthias held his ground, though his shoulders stiffened.

"You sense things other people don't," she said. "You see clearly in the dark. And your body rarely tires, does it?"

His first instinct was to deny it.

Then he remembered his midnight walks. Hours on his feet, with no need to stop and rest.

"I walk a lot."

"And when did you last fall ill?"

Matthias looked at her.

Three winters ago, the flu had emptied his office one desk at a time. He'd kept coming in, filing reports and wondering whether he would be next.

He never had been.

"Plenty of people have good immune systems."

"Of course."

She waited.

He hated that she waited.

He had explanations for everything: the feeling on the train, his clear vision in the dark passage behind the bicycle shop, and the certainty that had guided him around every corner.

They sounded less convincing together.

He had never thought of himself as someone with secrets. These were simply things he'd assumed everyone experienced a little differently.

If she was right, he'd spent years explaining himself to himself badly.

"You're right about those things," he admitted. "That doesn't mean I believe the rest."

Belial let out a quiet breath. Her shoulders relaxed beneath her golden hair.

"Then let me explain the rest."

Matthias nodded once.

"Three thousand years ago, you were a demon lord."

His fingers went cold around the briefcase handle.

He'd expected another title, perhaps some elaborate story about a king. He hadn't expected that word to make him want to step away from her.

"A demon lord."

"Yes. A lord of great power."

"And what happened to this great power?"

Belial lowered her eyes.

"Three families united against you: the Cronqvist, the Strauss, and the Marco. Their champions defeated you."

She smoothed the folded cloak with her palm, though it was already neat.

"Your soul entered the cycle of rebirth. Twenty-eight years ago, it was born into this life. As Matthias Titus."

A train rumbled somewhere beyond the houses.

Matthias stared at his hands. This morning, his biggest concern had been finishing a report before lunch.

"I don't remember any of that."

He searched for something as he said it. A face, a place, even a feeling that belonged to the story.

Nothing came. He remembered the unfinished work on his desk far more clearly than any supposed empire.

Surely that counts for something.

"I know."

"You say it as though you're certain."

Belial met his eyes.

"I am certain of you."

He looked away first.

He still didn't believe her. Not entirely.

But she knew things he had never thought to tell anyone, and hearing them aloud frightened him more than he wanted her to see.

"That's a lot to tell someone outside a florist."

"I have been practicing the speech for some time." She glanced at the shutters. "I hoped the location would be less municipal."

A short laugh escaped him before he could stop it.

Belial smiled, cautiously this time.

He could walk away. His building was close, and she hadn't tried to stop him.

Tomorrow, though, he would still see through the darkness. He would still know when someone stood behind him.

And he would wonder what else she had been about to say.

"There's more, isn't there?"

"A great deal."

"Of course there is."

"Which is why I hoped you might allow me to cook for you first."

Matthias blinked.

Belial bent and picked up a cloth grocery bag beside her cloak's former resting place.

"Difficult truths are easier to receive on a full stomach. I brought ingredients."

He looked at the bag, then at her.

"You bought groceries?"

"Yes."

"Before speaking to me?"

She held the bag with both hands.

"I was hoping you would say yes."

The simple answer left him quiet.

A moment ago, she'd called him a demon lord. Now she stood waiting for permission to make him dinner, trying and failing to hide how much his answer mattered.

Matthias sighed.

"Dinner," he said. "And you answer my questions."

Her face brightened.

"Of course, Master."

He turned toward his building before she could see him smile.

"Don't set anything on fire, will you?"

"Absolutely, Master!"

She hurried into step beside him, the grocery bag swinging between them.

Then he heard her release a small, shaky breath she had held until he turned toward home.

He slowed enough for her to keep beside him.